Notes: Well, here
it is. Some graphic, unremitting Duo-torture! Not for the faint of heart!!!!
it Down to Learning + Chapter 10
Duo shifted his weight slightly,
leaning one shoulder against the tall, grimy pole that had once, in better
days, borne a "Walk/Don't Walk" sign on the top of it. These
days, noone much cared if people in this part of the city made it safely
across the street. The authorities probably hoped they didn't - a hit-and-run
death meant paperwork, but probably not as much paperwork as any resident
of this area would generate over the course of a full lifetime.
The movement caused the thick, heavy mass of his hair to tumble down his
back, so Duo tossed his head, letting some of the chestnut strands fall
back over his shoulder, trailing down his chest. He felt some of the wispy
ends tickle his stomach, bared by the short hem of the tight black crop-topped
shirt he wore.
He shifted again, wincing as a sharp pain radiated up through his body
from his abused backside.
Better get used to it.
A small, dark-haired man hurried by, turning his head to glance curiously
at Duo. The American gifted him with his most sultry smile, and the man
hesitated, then shook his head firmly to himself and hurried on.
Duo suppressed a sigh. It wasn't the best time of day for this, but...
But the hunger was growing. It had been....five hours now since he used
the last of his store, and the last of the peace had disappeared. He needed
more, and that fucking bastard Krantz had raised his price again...and...
Duo suppressed a groan, arranging himself even more artfully against the
abandoned pole, rather than throwing himself in a sobbing heap in the
gutter beneath it, like he wanted to.
How long had it been? Duo frowned, trying to remember...
Ten days, give or take a day or two possibly lost in the haze of artificial
Ten days, since he'd had a home, and people he cared about, and a job,
and a future...
Now, he barely had a present. Just an on-going, living nightmare.
It was a familiar nightmare. One that he'd thought he'd escaped forever,
He should have known better. This is where he'd come from, and it was
where he always ended up.
He was part of the street. And as much as he hated it, it was part of
He'd blindly returned to this shithole city on the American continent
when he'd fled from Heero that day the Japanese man had found out the
truth about him. Still, separated from the event by ten days that seemed
like ten years, Duo shuddered as he remembered Heero's face.
He'd been sickened. Disgusted. He'd recoiled from his very touch, and
Heero Yuy, who'd been a killer since he was eight years old, couldn't
even stand to touch him.
He was...dirty. He'd thought some of the things he'd done had maybe been
able to wash that stain away...
But they hadn't. And when Heero saw it, he'd despised it, and despised
He couldn't stand the thought of seeing the same sick repugnance in the
eyes of all the others, too. He really...just wouldn't be able to bear
it. Just seeing it from Heero had been enough to...to make him want to
die, as he hadn't wanted death since he was eight years old.
He'd felt the same desire to just fall down and never get up before. He'd
felt it first when he was seven years old, and his only friend died in
his arms, his last breath used to make a joke in a bittersweet effort
to cheer him up. Solo had only been nine years old - give or take a year
- and he was dead. Duo couldn't save him. He'd felt the same despair again
barely a year later, when he had stood among the wreckage of a devastated
church and stared at the charred, dead bodies of the only people who had
ever told him he was worthy, and offered him a way out.
He'd wished for death, actively sought it in the years after that, but
only those two times had he ever come close to praying for it.
He would ask nothing of God. He'd sworn that as a child, when he'd seen
a member of his gang die of injuries sustained at the hands of some drunken,
laughing Federation soldiers. Any God who'd let something like what happened
to Jimmy go on in His world, wasn't worth asking for help, or mercy, or
love. He had none.
But those two times, he'd begged that uncaring God to just let him cease
to be, like everyone else that mattered to him.
He hadn't, of course. And after the destruction of Maxwell Church, Duo
had vowed that he would never, ever ask Him for anything again.
He'd broken that vow ten days ago, when once again, crouched half-naked
on the cold floor of one of the Preventers' conference rooms, he'd prayed
And again, his plea had been denied, and he had to figure out what to
do with his own suddenly directionless existence.
Leaving had been the only option. He just couldn't bear a re-enactment
- in triplicate - of what he'd just borne with Heero.
He'd gone back briefly to the home they'd all shared, accessed Heero's
computer to create a new identification, destroyed the record of his transaction,
Deciding where to go had thrown him for a moment. The world was a huge
place, but there was nowhere in it for him. Noone wanted him, he had nothing
In the end, he'd decided to go back to the shit city that he'd done undercover
work in a few days before. He'd been planning to go back there anyway,
because his sudden disappearance would have compromised the mission. He
might as well go there, and carry on. It was one last thing he could do
for the others - ensure that the job that they were working on so hard
wasn't messed up because of him.
Not that there was anywhere else he desperately wanted to go, anyway.
Besides, he had a bit of an identity established there.
Tyrone. The ever-popular upwardly-mobile pimp.
That had posed a bit of a problem, since he didn't exactly have a horde
of willing women ready to prostitute themselves on corners for him.
So, the first night he was back, he slammed into the bar he'd spent time
in before, and proceeded to get roaring drunk. When approached by a few
of the people he'd met before, he, in his "drunken indiscreetness"
poured out his whole sad story - while he'd been up here, getting a feel
for the territory, trying to better himself, his friend who he'd left
in charge had stolen his girls and his spot. When he'd gotten back and
tried to get into his own building, he'd been driven off at gunpoint.
He had nothing, his whole start was gone, he'd been driven out of his
Just the kind of sad luck, stupid-ass thing that would happen to a Tyrone.
That had done more to establish his identity than anything else. He'd
come off before as a smalltime idiot, and this cemented that. He'd been
surrounded by widely-grinning men, offering him "sympathy,"
which was in truth nothing but not-so-carefully-disguised mockery.
Tyrone, deep in his intoxication and morass of self-pity, of course didn't
notice the difference.
They pressed him for details, grinningly consoled him, and bought him
round after round of drinks. As he got drunker and drunker, he got louder,
cursing the women, the friend who'd betrayed him, his mother who'd given
birth to him, anyone he set his eyes on that he thought was ugly...He'd
put on quite a show.
They'd loved it. It was, Duo reflected bitterly, probably the best entertainment
they'd seen in years. They kept buying him more alcohol, spurring him
on and on and on.
Then, one of them had offered him a line of coke.
He'd almost roused their suspicions again at that point. He'd shut up,
and stared at the thin line of white powder on the bar in front of him.
"What the fuck's wrong with you?" the man who'd offered it had
snarled. "Never fucking seen coke before?"
But Duo hadn't been able to reply, hadn't been able to tear his gaze away.
He'd escaped, fought his way kicking and screaming away from the bondage
of this powder and all it implied. He'd sworn he'd never go back.
But here it was, and here he was...and everything that had made staying
away from it worthwhile was gone...
And Duo had shaken his head, grinned drunkenly at the people around him,
and lowered his head, neatly sniffing the entire line of powder into one
nostril with one smooth movement.
Like falling off a bike. Some things you never forget.
He'd sat there, head bowed over the bar, hating himself for a long moment...
Then, he didn't hate anything. Everything was better, brighter, bigger.
He could feel his heart hammer in his chest - he was alive! Everyone at
the bar was alive! Everything was amazing, wonderful...he didn't even
remember Heero or the others or the despair he'd been feeling moments
before... This was like he'd remembered - better than he remembered,
and he couldn't imagine why he'd tried to stay away from it for so long...
When he woke up the next morning, his head in a pile of garbage in the
alley behind the bar, he'd remembered. He spent a fascinating hour throwing
up everything in his stomach, shivering and shuddering and again wishing
he was dead.
Another hour, he spent lying near the congealing vomit and wondering why
he wasn't. With all that he'd drank before he did the coke, he should
But he never did. He was fucking indestructible. Whatever moronic shit
he did, he was sure to wake up in the morning, ready for more.
He spent another few hours just lying there, feeling sorry for himself.
Yesterday morning, he'd woken up in a warm bed, surrounded by four gorgeous
men who he'd thought cared about him. This morning, his only company was
a swarm of flies and a few rats who were finding the voided contents of
his stomach irresistible.
In the end, he'd decided he needed more cocaine. He couldn't lie there
anymore, facing the rats and flies and memories and pain without some
help. He just needed a few more hours of escape, then he'd pick himself
up and figure out what to do. Maybe he'd try to find some pimp who was
looking to franchise, and set himself up as a hanger-on. Tyrone would
be good for that role.
He just needed one more hit, and that would give him the strength he needed
to continue this.
Two-and-a-half days later, the last of the money he'd brought with him
from Sanc was gone, and he was sprawled half-way across a table in the
seedy little bar he'd been glued to since his arrival, begging the emaciated,
irritated dealer across the table for just one more line of cocaine.
"Forget it, Tyrone," the man snapped at him, his washed-out
gray eyes steely with irritation. "I ain't doing charity cases. You
don't have the money, you don't get any."
"You've got all my money, Krantz," Duo snapped. "You've
raised your price four times in the past three days, and took everything
I have and..."
"I'm sorry for your troubles," the dealer interrupted in a bored
tone. "But business is business."
"Krantz, come on!" Duo half-shouted. "I've only been here
three days! I haven't had time to get any connections yet, and..."
"No money, no product," Krantz interrupted firmly.
"Krantz, please," Duo pleaded, abruptly changing tactics. "I
need to find some work, man, but I can't...not like this. I just need
two lines...two lines and I'll be able to get going... Come on, man...I'll
pay you double when I get some cash. Anything you want, man..."
Part of Duo was disgusted, horrified as he heard himself pleading with
no thought of pride with the piece of human trash across the table from
him. But most of him was just focused on his task - get some more of that
powdered forgetfulness from the other man, whatever he had to promise
away to get it.
Krantz stared at him through narrowed eyes. Duo put his best pleading
face on - it wasn't hard - and stared at the man through widened violet
eyes. Krantz stared at him assessingly for a moment, his eyes moving slowly
over his face and down to his chest.
"Anything, huh?" he asked thoughtfully.
"You'll be my best friend for life," Duo swore earnestly.
Krantz snorted. "I've got enough friends, Tyrone," he said dryly.
"But you can do something for me," he decided, pushing himself
to his feet. "Come on," he ordered, starting across the bar,
jerking his head to indicate that Duo was to follow him.
Duo started after him eagerly. Krantz threw a small bill down on the bar
as he passed it, and opened a door leading into the private part of the
establishment. Duo followed him in, looking around curiously. The room
was tiny - there was nothing in it but a table and a few chairs.
"Close the fucking door," Krantz ordered sharply.
Duo hurried to obey, and when he turned to face the other man again, his
eyes widened in surprise.
Krantz had unfastened his pants, and, as Duo watched, he unceremoniously
shoved them down to his ankles. His half-hardened cock quivered slightly,
growing more erect as Duo stared at it.
The dealer dropped unceremoniously down into one of his chairs, spreading
his legs as wide as the fabric still gathered around his ankles would
Duo stared at him, uncomprehendingly.
"Suck it," Krantz ordered briefly, waving his hand at his own
Duo licked suddenly dry lips nervously, and Krantz' dull eyes gleamed.
"Suck it," he repeated, a more eager note in his voice. "It'll
get you four lines," he offered when Duo still hesitated.
Four lines! The violet-eyed boy swayed on his feet, pulled by indecision.
Mostly, he wanted to turn and run screaming out of the room. He wanted
to punch Krantz. He wanted to go home.
But...there was no home to go to. He had noone, no money...and if he just
did this little thing - something he'd done more times than he could remember,
and frequently for less than he was being offered - he'd get four lines.
"I don't have all fucking day, Tiny," Krantz snarled, his face
turning ugly with anger. He used the derisive nickname one of the comedians
at the bar had dropped on him the day before. Even Duo, who'd reacted
with the expected anger which nearly guaranteed that the nickname would
stick, had to admit that it fit him better than ‘Tyrone.' "Take it
or leave it."
Leave it. Leave four lines. And go where?
More than anything else, the thought that he had nowhere to go led Duo
to drop to his knees between Krantz' spread legs. That thought hurt more
than anything else, and four lines could help him forget about it all
He run shivering hands along Krantz' bony inner thighs, slowly working
his hands toward the other man's arousal. He moved one hand beneath the
hard cock, squeezing the soft flesh there. Krantz groaned, his eyes half-closing,
and Duo ran the other hand up his engorged organ, fingers closing around
it, pumping slowly up and down the length as he continued to massage Krantz'
"I told you to suck it, not fucking play with it," Krantz snapped,
gasping as Duo squeezed him a little harder.
Duo stared at the dripping cock, bare inches from his face. He didn't
want to, he didn't want to touch Krantz that way...he didn't want to go
there again. Once he did, there would be no turning back, no convincing
himself that he just needed a few more lines, a few more hours before
he picked himself up and moved on...
If he did this, there'd just be rolling around the rock bottom, trying
to find the chink that would open up and let him fall into Hell.
"Come on, you little shit," Krantz gasped.
Duo took a deep breath, and leaned forward, running his tongue along the
tip of Krantz' thin cock. He nearly gagged at the sour taste of the other
man's fluid, and he leaned abruptly further forward, taking the entire
organ into his mouth at once to ensure that he didn't. Krantz wouldn't
quickly get over an insult like that.
The dealer groaned loudly as Duo took his entire length in his mouth,
and Duo felt his hands on his head, shoving his face further into the
man's groin. He tried to ignore the less-than-fresh odor emanating from
the thin man, and he relaxed the muscles in his throat, smoothly letting
the thin organ slide past the back of tongue and rub against the back
of his throat.
"Oh, yeah," Krantz muttered, his voice hoarse with ecstasy as
Duo began to suck on him, swirling his tongue over the swollen flesh in
his mouth as he did so. He grabbed two handfuls of Duo's hair and began
to pull his head back and forth, moving his hips as he did, fucking the
smaller man's mouth with increasing ferocity.
Duo moaned as control of the situation was pulled from him, and Krantz
cried out more loudly as the vibrations resounded around his cock. Duo
concentrated on the flesh in his mouth, keeping himself from gagging as
he rammed again and again into his throat, ran his tongue over the slippery
skin as Krantz' moans grew louder and louder.
"Holy fuck," he gasped, suddenly shoving Duo's face all the
way down, holding it there.
Duo felt the other man tense, and knew he was close. He sucked as firmly
as he could on Krantz' dick, trying to ignore that fact that he couldn't
breathe with the other man's cock shoved down his throat, focused on nothing
but making Krantz come.
He drew hard on the stiff flesh one more time, and that was enough. With
a loud shout, Krantz orgasmed, his seed flooding Duo's throat. The smaller
man had no choice but to swallow it; with Krantz' cock still rammed all
the way into his throat, there was no way to expel the fluid out of his
mouth. So he swallowed as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the bitter
taste, trying not to choke as Krantz spasmed again, emptying himself.
Krantz leaned back in the chair with a sigh, slowly allowing his softening
length to slide out of Duo's mouth.
The American sucked gently on it as it went, never-forgotten technique
rising as he exercised skills not utilized in this way for years.
Duo sat back on his heels, watching the other man recover himself. Krantz
opened his eyes and stared down at him, and Duo slowly, deliberately,
licked his lips, tasting the other man's fluids.